The Essence and the Descent
by chase glasslace
Summary: Tom makes his first Horcrux. 'With every piece he tore away he would draw closer to that perfect centre.' [oneshot]


This is short, but there might be follow-ons. Tom makes his first Horcrux.

No warnings, no spoilers (unless you're slow and haven't read HBP) -- just simple, old-fashioned fic.

**Disclaimer: **JKR's. Title from T.S. Eliot, who probably wouldn't like the regularity with which I quote his work.

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**THE ESSENCE AND THE DESCENT**

_Between the essence  
And the descent  
Falls the Shadow  
For Thine is the Kingdom _  
-- T.S. Eliot, _The Hollow Men._

There was a moment, one he still dreams of decades later, when the threads of magic and desire and blood (and power, so much power) uncoiled in his soul and the tendrils spread in a rush of energy, tingling and insistent, through every muscle and fibre of his body. The blink of an eye and _burning _as his Muggle blood was scoured from his veins. _That _moment: vision exploding, heart racing, the tearing sensation, the feeling that something, somewhere, was splitting him in two.

Euphoria and pain and magic and _need_ becoming tangible – an echo, a memory, a fragment to be encased. Remembered. (He still dreams of this night on the few occasions he ever sleeps, now.) And when it drained, slowly, oh so slowly there was: the feeling of loss and the sudden emptiness in a place he'd never noticed before. But for the pounding in his ears, he could hear nothing. But for the ache of the yawning space within him, he could feel nothing. But for –

Tom's eyes snapped shut and

_icy waterpressinginchok ingsinkingsinking down  
smell of smoke ofburning ofsm oke of sky  
there_

He gasped and

_winter air, night air and  
smoke in hismouthsmok einsidehim can't breathe can't see can't think can't  
cold_

He screamed and_  
_

_ pale moon stars' reflection pinpoints of green light on black water  
green salazar bloodoftheenemyforcibl—_

_reach up (his father's face and _his_ father's face and the woman's hateful eyes and  
thisisrightthisisnecessarythisisrevenge thisis  
green blaze and blank stares and thefreedomfeelssosogood)_

_cold_

The sky had lightened to murky grey and Tom's skin was as cold and pale as marble by the time his muscles relaxed and he crumpled to the ground. He was numb with cold, inside and out and, for a few seconds, wavered between consciousness and unconsciousness like a flickering lantern.

Limbs like lead, vision foggy and blurred at the edges like an old photograph in a forgotten album. Cold, oh so cold.

He lurched to his knees, unable to feel the twigs and stones pressing into his skin, and stared at the_his_ diary lying on the Forest floor. Innocuous. Out of place. He stared blankly at it for a long moment, trying to remember, searching for –

Memory crashed over Tom in an icy, sudden wave and he slumped back to the ground, gaze locked on the black book.

He'd done it.

He'd _done _it.

And when he reached for the diary, numb fingers brushing the leather cover, a sudden sear of energy, of sensation, spiked through him, fading quickly into a tingling where his skin had made contact. Tom examined his hand curiously and only then did he notice the small cut on his palm and the trickle of blood that followed the crease of his life line, staining it crimson. It took him a moment to realise that he must have cut it when he'd fallen and just not noticed. Just not felt it.

He stretched out his other hand for the diary the second time and, oh, he felt _this_, the rush of electricity (no, no, no … _magic_) as he picked it up. It was gone as quickly as it had come, just like before. Tom took a deep breath and forced himself to his feet.

This would happen again, he knew (he knew, he knew, but he never dreams of the second time or the third or the fourth or the ). With every ritual, every piece he tore away he would draw closer to that centre, to the point where there was no impure blood or Muggle father or weak, dead mother; the point where there was purpose and magic and power crystallised and wrapped in green, green, green.

As he turned and began the walk back to the castle, Tom clenched his fist around his bleeding palm with its scarlet life line and wondered whether the part of him inside the diary was feeling as cold as he was.

End.

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The details of Horcrux-making and chronology thereof are pretty sketchy in canon, so I hope any mistakes I've made will be forgiven. Feedback very welcome. 


End file.
